Project Description

siduri3

In the city of brotherly love, there seems to be little love for our youth. Through their actions it is evident that Lawmakers think the cost of having children in the city is a burden, one that be cut. Philadelphia policymakers slash budgets and programs. When asked about money for schools, in the state of Pennsylvania School Reform Commission, Governor Corbett says there is none. When city officials consider the possibility of budgeting cash for curricula the refrain is as it has been for years, why through good money after bad, bad teachers, failed students, and shuttered schools. The answers could be different if only people in glass towers could see what exists just outside their “high-rise.”

The Philly Youth Movement has been stable presence for years. However, only those on the ground can see them or hear their tears and fears – the fears they express when they look at their lives and consider how society treats them. “If only…” Perhaps, there is a chance. As the cries grow louder, and more of our young people react to the reality of being pushed aside, people respond.

Indeed, recently, a student poem was published in a Philadelphia paper, philly.com. The Writer, Siduri Beckman, is a ninth-grader at Julia R. Masterman. She is the city of Philadelphia’s first Youth Poet Laureate. She “felt like it was part of my job and my duty as a Masterman student to write a poem protesting the school budget cuts.” Please read her words and reflect. Let us ask ourselves, is this the world we wish to create for our children, in Philadelphia or anywhere?

A Word from the Cripples

By Siduri Beckman | Originally Published at philly.com on June 13, 2013

I’ve got something
to say.
It won’t take long
Just as long as it took you
to snatch everything away
One fourth of the body is
the leg
You have crippled us
Cursing us to hobble
all of our lives.

I cannot run
cross-country
on just
one leg.
Rip song
off of our tongues
to find songs are not Velcro but flesh
Snap the bows of the violins
in case the students could ever get the idea
that music
is alive
Because then you would have blood on your hands.
God forbid.
You see us as a problem
the classic class problem
INNER CITY streaked like mud across our faces
they’re all on the street anyway.
But leeches don’t suck out the disease
just the lifeblood.

I am angry
But I will not stoop
and hurt you
As you have hurt me
Thrusting fear
into our hearts
Why make us feel
so small
helpless
Forgotten by the people
whose duty it is to remember
Turn your back on your city
that chose not to choose
you
Because they feared
and now do all fears dawn true.

Bust the beehive
We will come out
In droves of wasps
We sting and live
to sting again
We will show ourselves to be
as formidable a foe
as all of those frackers
who you refuse to tax.
But you have also forgot
all of those ink marks slashed
with no faces or hopes or dreams or blood or flesh
Dismiss us
We cannot vote.
But in this country
we can speak.

References….